The Rewrites
by TeekayStaples
Summary: After a 3 (?) year hiatus, I'm back to rewrite some of my favourite fanfics from the past 7 years or so. Rated T for mentions of suicide, explicit language, and sexual references.


_Hey guys! Long-time no see… I guess you could say I was feeling a little nostalgic. I haven't written anything for Rock of Ages since my big farewell story back in 2016, and I hadn't really written anything before that since my heyday back in 13-14. But I watched the movie a couple nights ago, and I got the idea of taking my favourite fanfics and rewriting them. Even though I haven't been writing fanfiction, I've been writing my own stuff like mad. I recently got into uni to study creative writing, so I like to think (hope) that I've improved since I was scribbling gay fanfiction in the back of my maths book in my early teens. Anyway, enjoy I guess! I had a lot of fun with this, probably more than I'm willing to admit… _

1983

It was about four pm. None of the staff would be clocking on until seven at the earliest, so Dennis was taking the time to fill out the last of the week's paperwork. His back ached and he still carried a hint of a hangover from the night before, which didn't bode well for the evening ahead. Somewhere below the tiny office space, the front doors of the Bourbon opened and closed. Interesting, since almost none of his employees had a key to the place. Lonny was the exception, of course, but he didn't get into work until eight. If he _was_ here, it meant something had gone horribly wrong.

Dennis heard the tell-tale sounds of someone climbing over the bar and raiding the liquor supply, and was up like a shot to catch the thief red-handed. The club was barely breaking even, and there was no way he could afford to replenish the bar ahead of schedule. He took the stairs two at a time and sailed towards the front bar, nearly colliding with Lonny in the process. He was making his way – clumsily – back over the counter with a bottle of whiskey in each hand. He smiled at Dennis apologetically, the same crooked grin that so often made him bend to Lonny's every whim.

"Alright Den?" He said, visibly drunk, "I'll replace these, I swear."

Lonny was obviously a mess, and he was doing a terrible job at hiding it. His eyes were red and swollen, his face damp with tears, and he had what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on his right cheek. Aside from all that, he was completely soaked. It was pouring with rain outside. He'd probably catch a cold.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dennis snapped.

Lonny held up the bottles, as if that much should have been obvious. "Ran out at my place."

"You gonna pay for those?"

"Well, no. Like I said, I was gonna – "

"Replace them? You think I'm stupid? Give me those." He snatched the bottles from Lonny's hands and held them behind his back "I think you've had enough."

"Aw, come on, Den. Don't be like that." He made a drunken lunge for the bottles and nearly fell off the counter, "You're ruining my good time!"

It sure as hell didn't look like a good time. It looked like a self-destruct mechanism, and Dennis wasn't gonna let it happen on his watch.

"I don't pay you to have a good time. Get your ass up to that office and stay there, alright? Did you drink any of these? I'm taking it out of your pay."

Lonny pushed past Dennis and staggered up to the office, obedient as ever, and would hopefully sleep it off until it was time to start his shift. Although judging by Lonny's shaky mental state, he probably wouldn't _be_ starting a shift that night. He'd been working at the Bourbon for nearly eight years, and out of all the staff he was undoubtedly Dennis's favourite. Not just because his aforementioned ass looked pretty impressive in those skinny jeans, but also because his gung-ho attitude and friendly demeanour were indispensable, and aside from the occasional late start he was goddamn reliable. This drunken meltdown was bang out of character, and Dennis couldn't help but feel more than a little concerned. He returned the bottles to their rightful place behind the bar (nobody needed to know if Lonny had taken a mouthful or two – the rest of the place was hardly sanitary) and then made his way back up the stairs to check on his employee.

He slipped into the office and opened his mouth to speak, but upon seeing Lonny he immediately shut it again. Lonny had his back to the door, sitting on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands, bawling his eyes out. Dennis had never felt so uncomfortable. He wanted to help, of course he did, but all of a sudden he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

He cleared his throat, feeling like an ass, and hesitated before placing a hand on Lonny's shoulder.

"Oh, Christ. I'm sorry Den. Really I am. I dunno what – " He sniffed, "I dunno what I was thinking."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, really, I – "

"Really, don't worry about it. It's alright."

Lonny shifted to the other side of the couch and Dennis took the seat beside him. They shared an uncomfortable silence as Lonny tried to wipe his face on his t-shirt.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dennis asked.

"Not really."

"That's fine." Dennis said, relieved. They sank back into silence until Lonny relented, suddenly and violently, and buried his face in his hands again.

"I've been dumped." He said.

Ah. Dennis ignored the slow burning rage that was forming inside his chest and patted Lonny's arm awkwardly.

"Sorry." He mumbled, "I uh, I know how that goes."

"It's a bit shit." Lonny conceded, "I sort of thought it was the real thing. You know?"

"Yeah, I know." Dennis paused, "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."

"Nah, we were keeping it quiet. Now I know why. It wasn't anything serious, not for them at least. But…" He shrugged, "It felt pretty bloody special to me."

Dennis nodded. "Uh, what's her name?"

Lonny paused, "Stacey."

"Stacey." He echoed, "Man, tonight's gonna be a bad time. Arsenal's playing."

"I know." Lonny replied, "She's a fan."

"What? She'll be here?"

"Front bloody row." He cringed, "God, I can't face her Den. I just can't."

"Go home." Said Dennis, "I'll pay you. Call it sympathy leave or something."

Lonny shook his head, "I couldn't ask you to do that. Besides, I don't really want to be on my own."

Dennis could sympathise. The worst thing after a break up was facing an empty apartment.

"Can I stay here?" Lonny asked. "In the office? I'll tidy up and everything. Maybe I could do paperwork."

"Sure, you can stay. Don't touch the paperwork, though. I just got it in order. Take a nap or something okay?"

"Yeah? You don't mind?"

"Sure. I mean look at you, you're a mess. You can't go out there like that – it's bad for business."

Lonny grinned. "Thanks mate. I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one." Dennis muttered. He returned to his desk to polish off the last of the bills and wages that needed doing, then made his way back down to the bar at seven to unlock the doors for the rest of the staff. By the time he left, Lonny was dosing off in front of the TV.

At eight, when Lonny would normally have been clocking on, Arsenal rolled up outside. Dennis went out to greet them, shook hands with Paul, then followed Stacee to his dressing room for their customary pre-show catch up. The habit of splitting a bottle of scotch before a show was as old as the band itself, originating from arsenal's very first gig way back in 76', when Dennis had taken a younger, more timid Stacee aside for a drink to calm his nerves. That night, Stacee looked like he needed it.

He was visibly shaken, almost as upset as he had been when he was just starting out, and that just wasn't like him. He had one hell of a shiner over one eye – swollen and purple – he could barely open the damn thing. He'd clearly tried to cover it up, but no amount of concealer could hide the swelling. Didn't matter – the crowd would love it. But still…

"Take a seat. You alright man? Jesus Christ, everybody's gone nuts tonight."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. I've got my manager upstairs on the couch, sleeping off a heartbreak. What about you, what's your problem?"

"The same." Stacee muttered, "I fucked up, man. I fucked up big time."

Dennis threw himself onto the red vinyl couch and knocked back a shot straight from the bottle.

"Hit me." Dennis said.

"Not much to tell. Cute little brunette. Things were getting serious, and I mean real serious, man. Like, head over heels down on one knee serious."

"No kidding." Dennis replied, "What? You wanted to marry her or something?"

"Man, I was thinking about it. Drove me crazy."

"How long you been seeing her?"

"Bout three months."

"Fuck." Dennis shook his head. For Stacee, that was almost unheard of. "So what's the problem?"

Stacee poured himself a glass and sipped it thoughtfully, "The problem, is that I have an image to maintain."

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly serious." Stacee replied, "I'm a wanted man, Dennis. Gotta keep it that way."

Dennis laughed, hardly believing what he was hearing. He hadn't seen Stacee hung up on anyone since Patty, and even that was nothing serious. A quick two week fling at most.

"Oh come on, lots of rock stars get married. Look at Ozzy Osbourne, Alice Cooper, for Christ's sake. They're hard rockers, man. Happily married."

He shook his said, "Not Stacee Jaxx."

"So you broke it off?"

"Had to. Going on tour soon. I knew if I brought, um, _her_ with me, I'd never get over her."

"Huh." Dennis replied, "How'd she take it?"

"How do you think?" Stacee gestured to his eye.

"She did that?"

"Not at first. At first she just shoved me, then when I pushed back, she slapped me." He paused, "So I hit back."

Dennis's jaw dropped, "You didn't."

"I told you, I fucked up. But this one," He chuckled, "She always has to have the last word. Packed one hell of a punch, then stormed out."

"How you holding up?"

"Not too good, Dennis. Not too good. You tell Paul to send me up some girls from the Venus club, okay? Have to take my mind off it."

"Oh, sure." Dennis replied.

Despite evidence to the contrary, it didn't even occur to Dennis that two of his closest friends had been sleeping each other for months. Although he had, on occasion, been known to swing either way, it was not even on his radar that Stacee or Lonny might be similarly inclined. So when Stacee said he'd been seeing a cute little brunette, Dennis had no reason to connect the dots, even if the description was strikingly similar to his own thoughts about his best friend.

When he finally got back to check on Lonny, he found him in tears again. Concerned, Dennis spent the rest of the night up in the office with Lonny's head on his shoulder, watching shitty late night TV instead of getting drunk to the sound of the best band in the world. But even though the TV sucked, and Lonny wasn't much company, Dennis decided he wouldn't have missed this for anything. His feelings for Lonny had been festering ever since he showed up at the Bourbon looking for work back in 75, and Dennis relished any opportunity he had to spend a little extra time with him.

He couldn't help but feel furious at whoever had broken Lonny's heart so viciously, and sorely hoped he never had to meet them. He was not a violent person by nature – definitely not to women – but somehow he wasn't sure he'd be able to restrain himself.

Downstairs, the band was wrapping up their encore. Lonny hesitated, then sat up.

"Reckon it'd be alright if I went backstage Den?"

"Sure, if you feel up to it."

"Yeah." He stood up, yawned, stretched. "Feel like drinking with the band for a bit."

"Not too much." Dennis warned.

"Nah, not too much." He replied, "You coming?"

"I've got shit to do." Dennis said. Besides, neither Lonny or Stacee stood to make particularly good drinking buddies. "Talk it out with Stacee. Arsenal Stacee, not your Stacey. He's in about the same place."

Lonny stiffened, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He broke up with his girlfriend tonight. He's pretty cut up."

"Huh." Said Lonny, hands stuffed in his pockets, "Well. I'll have a word then."

"Tell him I watched the show, will you? Tell him it was great."

"Yeah, alright. See you, Den."

"Don't disappear on me. You've done fuck all tonight. Least you can do is clean the bathrooms before you clock off."

Lonny groaned, "Fine. I'll sort it in a bit."

He left Dennis to his papers and forms, sauntered through the crowd of Arsenal fans making for the exit, and headed back to Stacee's dressing room. He knocked softly with bruised knuckles. Waited. He hesitated, wondered if he should leave. Then the door opened, and Stacee was standing there in all his glory. Leather pants, no shirt, eye even more swollen and puffy. They stared at each other. It was Stacee who spoke first.

"I fucked up." He said. It seemed to be about all he could say that night. The only excuse he had.

"I know." Said Lonny, "…One for the road?"

Stacee nodded, stepped aside to let Lonny in, and then shut the door behind him.

When Dennis woke up he was still at his desk, head resting on a mountain of papers, pens, and coffee stains. His neck hurt even worse than before, and his back was entirely fucked. If it wasn't for the phone ringing obnoxiously in his ear, he probably would have slept until noon. As it was, it was already ten. He groped for the phone and held it to his face, eyes still shut to shield them from the sun shining through the office window.

"Bourbon." He croaked.

"Is this Dennis Dupree?" Asked shrill, nasal sounding woman. He nodded, then remembered he was on the phone.

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm calling about an employee of yours. Lonny Barnett?"

Dennis sat up, suddenly interested. "Yeah, he works here. What about him?"

"Mr Barnett is currently admitted here at the Los Angeles Medical Centre. You're the only contact he's given us."

"Hospital? Why? What happened?"

"I can't divulge that information over the phone, Mr Dupree. If you could come down here at your earliest convenience, I'm sure we can sort everything out."

Dennis didn't even waste any time getting changed or showered. He jumped in the car in the same clothes from the night before and drove like crazy, even though the medical centre was only a block or so away. When he arrived at reception he couldn't get the words out fast enough, struggling to explain exactly who he was and why he was there at all. Eventually the woman from the phone made an appearance, and once ID had been given and the proper forms were signed, she was more than happy to take him to Lonny's room herself.

"Can you tell me what happened, please?" Said Dennis, "Is he alright?"

"He's fine. A little tired, but stable." She paused, "Lonny tried to take his life, Mr Dupree. He overdosed on sleeping pills. If his roommate hadn't found him and called an ambulance, he would have died."

Dennis was speechless. Was this about the girl? The break up? Fucking hell, if he hadn't wanted to murder her before, he certainly did then.

"…But he's alright?"

"He's just fine." She touched his arm reassuringly. "He's right in there. You can go see him, if you like."

Lonny's hospital room was small, but nice. Sun was shining in from the nearby window, bathing him in an almost heavenly glow. He was asleep, snoring quietly, his arms restrained by his sides on either side of the hospital bed. Dennis took the chair by the bedside and waited patiently for him to wake up. It didn't take long. Lonny's eyes fluttered open, he tried to raise his hand to rub his eyes then, remembering the restraints, swore quietly. After a moment, Dennis spoke.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

Lonny jumped, then turned to look at him. "Figured the nurse would."

"She did." Said Dennis, "But I'd like to hear it from you."

"…I spose I just didn't want to live anymore. What was the point, y'know? For the first time in my life, I thought I meant something to someone. I thought I mattered. But I was just an experiment. And that hurt."

Dennis nodded, "I wish you'd called me."

"Didn't want to bother you."

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that, alright? From now on you always call. You call, or you come by or something. You understand?"

"Alright." Lonny muttered, "I'll call."

It took months to get Lonny back on the straight and narrow. Hundreds of calls and sleepless nights, god knew how many drinking binges or last minute trips to the Venus club. Finally, it seemed like he might be turning a corner, and Dennis began to let his guard down. To Dennis it seemed that they'd finally turned a corner, that perhaps they could put the past behind them. However, an upcoming concert at the Bourbon threatened to change things.

1984

When Stacee's limo rolled up behind the Bourbon room, Lonny was ready. He had a plan, a well-constructed speech. He felt, if he kept his head, he could perhaps convince Stacee to resume their relationship. The limo opened, Lonny stood up a little bit straighter, and Stacee walked right past him. Not a word, not even a glance. He had a new girlfriend hanging off his arm, and a bottle of scotch in one hand. Lonny could feel the air rush out of him, like a swift punch to the gut. The back alley started to spin, he grabbed the wall to steady himself, but ultimately he collapsed on the pavement, and remained there for almost half an hour.

When he woke up and staggered back inside, the opening act was blaring and Arsenal was partying hard in the dressing rooms. He knocked on Stacee's door, waited, and when nobody answered he burst in without warning.

Stacee was sprawled out on the couch, his new girlfriend on top of him, panting like a sick dog. Lonny looked away and cleared his throat. Stacee looked up. When he saw Lonny, his face fell.

"Hold on a sec." He told him, "I'm almost done."

"Take your time." Lonny muttered, scuffing his feet uncomfortably.

Stacee finished, lifted the girl off him, and told her to wait outside a minute. She was painfully obedient.

"What do you want?" Stacee asked.

"You, mostly. What are my chances?"

"Give me a minute. I'm spent."

"On a more permanent basis." Lonny clarified.

"Oh." He shook his head, "I'm spoken for, kid. Sorry."

"Please." He whispered, "Why couldn't it be me? What's wrong with me?"

"I'm not gay." Stacee replied.

"Bullshit."

"Not exclusively. It's like I told Dennis, last time I was here. I've got an image to maintain."

Lonny stared at him, horrified. "You told Dennis?"

"I didn't tell him it was you." Thank god. He wasn't sure he'd be able to look Dennis in the eye if he knew.

"So that's it? We're done?"

"I'm up for a fuck, if you want one. No strings attached."

He knew he shouldn't. It wouldn't do him any good. In fact, it would probably only make things worse. But Lonny knew it was the best he could get, possibly his very last chance. It had been over a year, and his defences were shot. He fell on top of Stacee and gave into temptation.

Dennis was down by the bar, knocking back shots and rocking out to the opening act, Concrete Ballz. Catchy name, he'd have to book them again. He was lost in the music, completely absorbed, when Jimmy reached across the bar and grabbed him by his shirt sleeve.

"What?" Dennis snapped.

"You gotta get up on the roof!" Jimmy yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to help his voice carry.

"What for?"

"One of the barmaid's just told me he's threatening to jump!"

"Who?"

"Lonny!" Jimmy shouted, "Come on, get up there! He sounds pretty serious!"

Dennis left his shot at the bar and went out the front of the building, panting from sheer exhaustion. He didn't even know _how_ to get up on the fucking roof. Sure enough, Lonny was standing right on the edge, above the neon sign. He was shivering from the cold and looked glassy eyed and far away. Fuck's sake. A few other staff members and patrons had gathered outside, as well as several onlookers and passers-by. Aside from Dennis, nobody seemed particularly interested in doing anything to help. Just there to watch the splatter, probably.

"Lonny, don't jump!" Dennis yelled, as loud as his voice would allow. Lonny seemed to come back to himself a little. He looked down and met Dennis's eyes.

"Bugger off Den! None of your concern."

"The hell it isn't! You get your ass down here right now! It's bad for business!"

Lonny laughed, a sudden barking sound. It surprised them both. He looked as if he might be about to come down, but at the last minute slipped on the wet concrete and nearly went over the edge. Dennis's heart stopped, then started again when Lonny landed hip first on the edge of the building, but ultimately kept his balance. Shaking like a leaf, he came down via the iron ladder bolted to the side of the building – a ladder Dennis hadn't even known existed. He'd have to get that sorted out in case somebody else decided to do something stupid. He took off his vest and wrapped it around Lonny's shoulders – he really was shaking – and ushered him back into the office.

He shoved Lonny, not unkindly, in the direction of the couch, then crossed the room to make himself a stiff drink. He considered making Lonny one, too, but thought better of it. Alcohol certainly wouldn't help things.

"Talk." He said, after taking a mouthful of bourbon.

"Stacee's here." Lonny said. It wasn't a lie, not really.

"Sure he is. He's playing tonight."

"My Stacey." Lonny clarified.

"Oh." Said Dennis.

"I asked if, maybe, we could give it another go."

"And she said no?"

"Yeah, once she'd got done shagging…" He paused, "Shagging the other Stacee."

"…Oh." Dennis said again. "Does he know?"

"Yeah." Lonny muttered, "Yeah, he knows. He doesn't care."

Well, Dennis supposed Stacee couldn't be blamed for that. He didn't know Lonny from Adam. Why should he care if one of the girl's he was fucking used to be with somebody else from the Bourbon? Hell, _half_ the girls he fucked a year were probably seeing somebody else at the Bourbon. He took the spare seat on the couch, moved Lonny's head to its customary position on Dennis's shoulder, and turned on the TV. They stayed there for the rest of the night, and for most of the next morning.

When rumours spread, as they often do, about the guy threatening to jump off the roof, they inevitably changed depending on who was telling them. By the time the story reached Stacee's ear, it had morphed from "Some guy tried to jump off the roof of the Bourbon" to "Some British guy tried to jump off the roof of the Bourbon" to "The manager tried to jump off the roof of the Bourbon" and finally, via Arsenal's guitarist "that British manager you were talking to jumped off the roof of the Bourbon last night and died."

Stacee felt uncharacteristically sick to his stomach. It had never occurred to him that Lonny might still have meant so much, that his death would create such strong emotions. He spent nearly three days locked up in his hotel room, crying intermittently, until Paul practically broke down the door and told him if he didn't get his ass out there he was officially _finished_, but at no point did Lonny ever leave his mind.

He had fucked up, well and truly, worse than ever. At some point he found himself dialling the Bourbon's number. He got Dennis on the phone and tried to hold it together.

"Bourbon room." Dennis answered. Lonny was still asleep on the couch on the other side of the office. He'd been practically living there for days after the roof incident. Fine by Dennis, he wanted to keep an eye on him. Stacee cleared his throat.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I…I have to."

"Stace? That you? What's wrong?"

"I'm just… sorry." He dropped the phone back into its cradle, leaving Dennis confused but not overly concerned. Drunk calls were not uncommon in his line of work. Besides, for the moment, Lonny needed to be his priority.

1987

Arsenal was back for their last ever show, one final goodbye before Stacee went solo. Despite all that had come before, Lonny was having a bloody good time. The poorly named Wolfgang Van Cult were a surprising hit, and he couldn't deny that Arsenal always put on a good show. He was disappointed that Sherrie and Drew had tossed in their jobs, but could hardly blame them. He'd seen Paul hovering around Drew like a bad smell, and the band was no doubt already signed to some kind of record deal. Maybe Sherrie as well. Good for them, they deserved it.

Arsenal wrapped up the encore and disappeared backstage, and Lonny couldn't help but go pay them a visit. Sex was not the only thing on his mind, but admittedly it was on the cards. He had known since he started at the Bourbon that Dennis was the one he really wanted, but he also knew that with three failed marriages under his belt, Dennis was about as straight as it got. No hope there. Besides, he wouldn't want to ruin their friendship anyway. Still, lingering touches and moments of painful sexual tension were becoming more and more frequent, and he needed some kind of release. He was over Stacee (well, mostly) and was more than happy to use him for sex, the way Stacee had used him more than once.

He knocked twice on the door of the dressing room, waited, then went in. Stacee was on the couch, eyes closed. Dosing or passed out drunk, Lonny supposed.

"Alright mate?" He said. Stacee looked up. Frowned. Rubbed his eyes.

"Lonny."

"That's the one. Up for a shag? I'm a bit bored, and you were always good for it back in the day."

"You can't be here."

"Why? Got a bird waiting?"

"No, I mean. You can't…you're dead."

"Dead? Nah, not me mate. Not yet at least. Probably not till Monday morning at the earliest."

"You jumped off the roof."

Lonny cringed, "Almost. Den talked me down."

Stacee buried his face in his hands.

"Christ, that was what? Three years ago? You haven't thought I was dead this whole time, have you mate?"

"Come here. Now."

Lonny obliged, asking no further questions. They stayed in the dressing room till the early hours, until Stacee finally dropped off to sleep and Lonny (rather obediently) got dressed and left without saying goodbye. He understood how it worked, after all these years. No strings. But that was alright. He could let go now.

If Stacee came back again one day there might be another time, but probably not. Getting himself tied up in knots over what had only ever been about good sex was silly. Ridiculous. But it was more than that. All that time spent rolling around on the pool table with Stacee? He was thinking about somebody else. He was thinking about Dennis. Maybe he always had been. He could leave now. Call it a day. He zipped up his pants, spent the rest of the night in the office watching Dennis do taxes, and barely paid Stacee another thought.

1988

Lonny was standing in the doorway of the Bourbon. The club was closed, by invitation only. Sherrie and Drew were sitting on the edge of the stage, and Stacee and Constance were sitting at the bar, whispering softly to each other. Stace had a hand on her baby bump and an arm around her shoulders, and Lonny was taken aback by the soft pain in his chest at the sight of it.

'_So he could commit.' _Lonny muttered, _'Just not to me.'_

Then Dennis was there, his arms snaking around Lonny's waist, and any thoughts of Stacee disappeared. This was his future, him and Dennis, and suddenly the idea of being with anyone else felt so alien, so utterly repulsive, that Lonny wondered how it could have ever occurred to him at all. He leaned his head back onto Dennis's chest and craned his neck to kiss his cheek. He was vaguely aware that he had once tried to kill himself over Stacee Jaxx (twice, even) and it seemed so ridiculously silly that he couldn't help but snicker against Dennis's ear.

Dennis woke with a start and sat up. Another nightmare. No, the same nightmare. The _exact_ same nightmare he'd been having since 84'. The one where he made it out to the front of the Bourbon, just in time to see Lonny hit the pavement. He didn't have it every night, but when he was very stressed, his mind liked to play it on repeat. Lonny's arm had slipped from resting on his shoulder to resting in his lap. Dennis picked up his hand and cupped it to his cheek, reassuring himself that Lonny was here and alive and _real_.

"What's wrong." Lonny mumbled, still half asleep.

"Nothing, just a nightmare."

"What about?"

"The time you tried to jump off the roof."

"Hmph. Long time ago."

"Did you ever see that girl again after that?" Dennis asked, "Does she still hang around the Bourbon?"

"What girl?" Lonny asked. He was dosing off again.

"Stacey."

"Stacey wasn't a girl."

"The girl? The one you dated for six months? You nearly died for her. Don't tell me you don't remember."

"I dated a Stacey." Lonny agreed, "But he wasn't a girl."

In an instant it clicked, so suddenly and so loudly that Dennis was surprised Lonny didn't hear it. He shook Lonny awake.

"Lonny, you don't mean Stacee, do you? Stacee Jaxx?"

Lonny looked up, a little more awake. "Jesus Den, stop shaking me. What are you on about?"

"You slept with Stacee Jaxx?"

"Fucked." Lonny corrected, "You don't _sleep_ with Stacee Jaxx. You _fuck_ Stacee Jaxx. Or in my case you shag Stacee Jaxx. Or maybe you screw Stacee Jaxx, but you don't sleep with him, no."

"You and Stacee? three months?"

"Yes, alright? Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I don't believe it. You're serious?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"Because, because…" He paused, "It just doesn't sound right."

"Well, cat's out of the bag now. Dennis, I'm gay. About as gay as it gets in fact. This may come as a shock to you, but I hope in time you'll accept it and continue to allow me to sleep in your bed. Now, can I go back to sleep or not?"

"Sure." Dennis muttered. He waited until Lonny drifted back to sleep, then got up and dressed as quickly and as quietly as possible.

He walked down to the payphone on the corner in jeans and a t-shirt, stuck a quarter in the slot and dialled Stacee's number.

"I think you and I better have a talk." He said, "Meet me at the Bourbon in twenty minutes."

He didn't wait for Stacee to reply, just hung up and kept walking. The Bourbon was about a block away from Lonny's apartment, where Dennis spent the Mondays and Tuesdays when the club was closed, and he felt he needed the walk to calm down. If he went in there in the wrong mindset, he was apt to do something very, very stupid.

Stacee didn't even have to ask what Dennis was so goddamn pissed off about at 3AM on a Tuesday. He'd been dreading this conversation for years. He was in no particular hurry to get to the Bourbon, but didn't take his time either. He owed Dennis this, difficult or not. When he got there, he found the front door unlocked, and Dennis sitting at the bar with his arms folded across his chest.

"You son of a bitch." Dennis muttered.

"It took the kid longer to fess up than I thought it would. I've been waiting for this for years."

"He loved you."

"I know he did. So did a lot of the chicks I fucked. I don't see you rushing to their defence."

"He tried to kill himself."

"I know."

"Do you give a shit?"

"Of course I give a shit!" Stacee snapped, "I mourned him. Did you know that? I, mourned. For months. Years. I thought he was dead. When I saw him that night. That last Arsenal show? I couldn't believe it. I wanted to take him with me. On tour. Make it official even, go public, I don't know. But when I woke up he was gone, and I…I figured it was better that way."

"You had sex that night?"

"Yeah, but he was gone when I woke up. And then I decided… I decided I'd already let one get away. I couldn't do that again. So, I called Constance."

"…Do you still love him?"

"Does it matter? I'm married. I've got a kid on the way."

"Answer the question."

"…Yes. You don't stop loving Lonny Barnett. He gets under your skin and stays there. But I also love Constance. And Lonny doesn't love me anymore. He loves you."

"How do you know?"

Stacee hesitated, "There have been… moments of weakness. Since we started playing at the Bourbon more. Times when Constance was mad or tired and I thought, I thought Lonny might. But every time, he's refused. Pushed me away. Told me to fuck off."

"You've tried to fuck Lonny. Since…since he and I?"

"Yeah, since you and him became whatever the hell you and him are. But he's always said no. Always."

The punch was about as hard as Stacee had expected it to be, hitting him square in the nose and knocking him backwards. Dennis's ring was sharp and left a cut between his eyes, but Stacee took it without retaliation. He knew he deserved it. He was surprised, in fact, that Lonny hadn't said anything sooner.

"Get out."

"Hey, man, look. I didn't mean any disrespect. Nobody even knows if you and Lonny are serious. Lonny doesn't even know, he's just too scared to risk anything."

"I said get out!" Dennis yelled, "Go, now, before I do something I'll regret."

Stacee slipped out the front door and made his way back down the street. He'd parked his bike in a backstreet, where people were less likely to fuck with it. With his head down, he almost ran straight into Lonny, who dodged out the way at the last minute.

"Watch it mate." Lonny muttered, before he realised who he was talking to. "Oh. Alright Stace?"

"That night in the dressing room."

"What's that?"

"That night in the dressing room, the last time. If I'd asked you to leave, would you have come with me?"

Lonny paused, "You wouldn't have asked."

"I almost did."

"…No. I would've said no. I loved Dennis, still do. But you were there and he couldn't be. And that's about all there was to it."

"He's in the Bourbon. Pretty pissed off."

"Thought so." Lonny forced a smile, "You look after that pretty wife of yours Stace. You think of me when you're picking out godparents, alright?"

"Sure." Stacee muttered. "Sure."

A hug seemed necessary, and not entirely inappropriate. Lonny wrapped his arms around Stacee for the last time, then headed on towards the Bourbon. Unlike Stacee, he did not look back.

Dennis was still sitting at the bar, a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass in front of him. Lonny hopped up and sat cross legged in front of him. Unlike Dennis, he showed little in the way of decorum and drank straight from the bottle.

"Saw Stace outside." Lonny offered, "Said you were pretty pissed."

"How many times has he tried to fuck you in the past eight months?"

"Seventeen." Lonny replied, not batting an eyelid, "I told him to shove off every single time."

"He mentioned that."

"I want you, not him Den."

"Why?" Dennis asked, "He's younger, richer, better looking."

"True, true, not true." Lonny replied, "Besides, I love you, you git."

"You loved him once."

"Yeah, once being the key word. This? What we have? Bloody hell, mate. I wouldn't fuck it up for anything. Stacee's good in bed – not as good as you, but good, as it goes – but he's not good anywhere else. You can't talk to him or watch telly with him, or spin records with him at four in the morning."

Dennis reached out and took Lonny's hand. "You almost killed yourself over him."

Lonny snorted, "Bit overdramatic. I was stupid, Den, all messed up in the head."

"Because of Stacee Jaxx, I almost lost the most important person in my life."

"Yeah, but you didn't. I'm here, Den, and I'm all yours."

"You know I'm committed to this, don't you?" Dennis said suddenly, "Our… relationship?"

Lonny grinned, "I do now, yeah."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I." Lonny replied, "What do I have to do to convince you?"

Dennis hesitated, "I can think of a few things…"


End file.
